Patrick turned to him. "How are you doing, Gabriel?"

"Very well, thank you."

"Very well?" An enigmatic smile. "I'm glad to hear it." He straightened. "All right, kids. Enjoy your meal and ignore the old folks." He started to leave, then turned. "Did I hear that the body of Ms. Conway disappeared in transit the other day?"

"It did," I said.

He pursed his lips. "Won't that impede the investigation?"

Gabriel shrugged. "It'll mean no autopsy, but there's still a coroner's report and crime scene a.n.a.lysis. They have what they require to proceed."

"Ah, right. Interesting." He seemed to look at the elders as he hefted his bag again. "Interesting."

He smiled over his shoulder and left.

Gabriel followed me home after dinner. That was understandable, given that he'd parked out front. Except he didn't stop at his car when we got there.

"I want to show you something," he said. "A personal project that will improve your research skills."

"Do I get paid for it?" I asked as I followed him up the steps.

"Did you catch the personal part? I'm a.s.sisting you with something I believe you'll be interested in, and you'll receive the benefit of my experience in lieu of cash."

"I'd rather have the cash."

When we entered the apartment, TC went nuts, as if he hadn't seen me in days. I gave him a pat then b.u.mped him off the kitchen table and set up my laptop.

"Okay, so what are we doing?" I asked.

"A public records search."

"You really know how to show a girl a fun night, don't you?"

He lowered himself into the other chair. "Records searches are one of the most necessary skills for a researcher. Also, one of the most tedious. Which is why I'm pa.s.sing my knowledge on to you."

"Oh, joy." I opened a browser window and hit a bookmarked site. It brought up the online search for the Cook County records.

"Ah," Gabriel said. "Doing prep work, I see. Unfortunately, for tonight's purposes, that's the wrong county." Gabriel punched in the search terms and bookmarked another site for me. "We're going to pull up property records for the house where you found Ciara Conway's body." He glanced over. "That interests you, does it not?"

It did. After seeing those omen friezes and hearing Rose's story, I wanted to know more about the woman who owned the house.

"It isn't a simple matter of entering an address," he said.

"So I noticed when I looked at the Cook County site," I said. "Township, subdivision, lot number ... They need a ton of information. And even then their records only go back to 1985. For transactions before that, you need to go to the office and dig through files."

"Which is a glorious way to spend a day. As you'll eventually discover."

"Don't you guys hire law clerks for that?"

"I have you. Fortunately, the records for this county go back further, probably because there are relatively few of them. I'll show you another time how to obtain property specifics. For now, here they are."

He pa.s.sed me his cell, with the details on a text note. I entered them and got "property not found."

"You've made a mistake," Gabriel said.

"Naturally."

I let him double-check my input. It was correct. He entered information for Rose's house, which he'd brought for comparison. When it also came up blank, he fixed the screen with a cold stare.

"Intimidation only works on living things," I said. "Let me see what I can find."

The answer was on the records-search site, under FAQ. Records for Cainsville had not been digitized. They were available at the town records office, inside the library, and could be accessed by appointment only, with a minimum of forty-eight hours' notice.

"Seriously?" I said.

"Let's see what we can find by other means," Gabriel said. "Names of previous owners should be accessible elsewhere."

Eventually he found the full name of the last owner. Using that, he uncovered the original one.

"Glenys Carew," he said.

"I've heard that name," I said. "I know there are Carews in Cainsville. A few of them, anyway. I think Veronica said it was an old family. Glenys sounds familiar, too. I'll take a wild stab and guess it's Welsh?"

Gabriel's fingers flew over the keyboard, surprisingly adept for someone whose fingers looked like they'd hit three keys at a time. "It is. As is Carew. You're right-there are a few Carews in town. Presumably not direct descendants, given that they allowed the house to change hands."

He pa.s.sed me the laptop and I ran a few searches, chatting as I did. "If Glenys advertised her services as a fortune-teller, I don't see any historical record of it. It isn't exactly a common name. Ah, here's something. A wedding announcement for a granddaughter from the Morning Star, which is apparently one of the newspapers that merged to become the Rockford Register Star, and-"

I stopped and stared at the screen, rereading the announcement. It was for the wedding of the daughter of Arthur Carew, only son of Owen and Glenys Carew, all of Cainsville, Illinois. The daughter, Daere Jean Carew, was marrying the only son of another Cainsville family-John Laurence Bowen.

"Daere Bowen," I whispered, barely able to get the word out. "That's-"

"Pamela's mother," Gabriel said. "Your maternal grandmother."

Pamela's mother had babysat me during the murders. I'd known her as Grandma Jean, but my research had said her first name was actually Daere.

"So my mother's family is from Cainsville," I said. "Like yours. My grandmother left after she married, according to this announcement." It said the newlyweds planned to move to Chicago, where John was employed as a factory foreman. "Your mother left, too."

"Yes, she moved to Chicago when she was pregnant with me."

"How did you get Pamela's case?"

"I pursued it after someone brought it to my attention. Yes, that someone was from Cainsville. Ida, in fact. I was not, however, aware that Pamela had any connection to the town. It didn't come up in our discussions, and there was no reason to delve that far into her family past."

His fingers drummed the tabletop. Annoyed that he hadn't known. I was still trying to process it all. I had a connection to Cainsville. My mother's family came from here. I didn't know what to make of that, but I had a good idea where to start asking questions.

"Is there any sense speaking to Pamela?" I said. "I hate to, after I said I won't until she'll talk about the omens and the hounds."

"No, this estrangement is wearing her down. She calls daily to see if you've changed your mind. Any information she can give on your omens is worth holding out for. I will mention Cainsville at our next meeting."

"Do you think it means anything?" I asked. "Or is it just a case of townies looking out for townies?"

"I don't know." More finger drumming. Then he stopped himself. "We should learn more about Glenys Carew. Find out if there's anyone here who remembers her. Some of the elders might."

"Okay." I closed the laptop. "It's late."

"It is. You should get to bed. I'll stay."

There was no reason for Gabriel to stay. Did I argue, though? No, I did not. I got out fresh towels for him, said good night, and went to bed.

When I got into my room, I texted Ricky.

Heading to bed. Gabriel still here. Sleeping on my sofa bed. Again.

I waited for the reply, wondering how I would interpret a delay. Taking a while to respond because he was busy at the clubhouse? Or because he wasn't sure what to say about Gabriel staying over?

His reply came less than ten seconds later. LOL. Must be comfortable.

I exhaled. He'd given no signs that he was jealous of my time with Gabriel, but I kept waiting for it. I'm not sure how many guys would be fine with their girlfriend's boss sleeping on her sofa. I sent a final text and went to bed.

SECURITY.

Gabriel sat on the edge of the sofa bed and looked around the moonlit apartment. The window shade was an inch short on all sides and he could have blamed his sleeplessness on the light streaming through, but that wasn't the problem.

He opened the blind. Next door was a two-story house, the roofline below the window. There were no larger buildings on this side, no way for anyone to peer into Olivia's apartment. Or so she'd say. He had only to look at the tree between the apartment and the next house to see an easy vantage point for anyone.

TC hopped up onto the sill and peered out into the night with him, their reflections mirrored on the gla.s.s. Gabriel closed the blind. Then he turned to Olivia's door. Silent now. He'd heard the tap-tap of texting earlier.

He checked the locks and security system. He'd expected to feel at ease when the alarms were installed. Yet he could still sense threat out there, and the only thing that helped was prowling the d.a.m.ned apartment. What had Morgan called him? Olivia's pit bull. He bristled at the implication, but that was exactly what he felt like, checking and rechecking the locks.

A dead body outfitted to look like her would seem as overt a threat as one could imagine. But for a threat to be effective, there had to be an "if" attached to it. If you do X, then Y will happen. No "if" had been given. That was not how the game was played.

Was the X somehow implicit? If you continue investigating your parents' case, you'll end up like this girl. But when the body appeared in Olivia's car, Chandler was already in jail. When the head was left in her bed, she had already walked away from Gabriel and the investigation.

Was it the opposite, then? Keep digging or you'll die? If so, the message was far too obtuse.

He needed to speak to Chandler, d.a.m.n him. He'd been digging for dirt on the man, but it was hard to find blackmail material that would rattle someone already facing multiple murder charges. Until then, Gabriel had no answers. No clear certainty even that Olivia was under a direct threat. Yet a gnawing anxiety said she was and that he needed to do something about it. Which was almost as bad. Why did he need to do something about it?

Caring about her did not explain this obsessive need to look out for her. She could manage that surprisingly well. When she did call him during an emergency, it was only because she needed legal advice.

Olivia was smart. She was capable. She had a gun and the will to use it. So what kept him running to her aid? Making excuses to spend the night and then spending it prowling her d.a.m.ned apartment? He had no idea. And that, perhaps, unsettled him more than anything.

One more check of the windows and then the door lock. He paused there, fingers on the handle.

Check outside.

He growled softly at the urge. Yet he didn't resist it. Once the anxiety settled, he'd be able to sleep. He was halfway out the door when he felt something brush his legs and looked down to see TC. The cat didn't seem to be making a run for it-he was simply accompanying him.

"Stay here," he murmured.

He managed to avoid the ridiculous temptation to add, "Watch over her." TC wasn't a guard dog, and he certainly hadn't protected her from the last intruder. Because he hadn't been there. Because he'd been taken. Someone had known the cat would have alerted Olivia to an intrusion, and so TC had been removed and shut in the Carew house where the killer was storing the body.

On the front stoop, Gabriel looked around. Checking for that sixth sense that told him a threat was near. "Sixth sense" wasn't the right term. That implied a preternatural power. This was an innate ability to survey a situation and note threat where others saw none. Such as knowing when Seanna had needed a fix and didn't have drugs or the money to buy them, so he should stay away until she scored. Or when she brought home a man, that sense told him which ones wouldn't care if he was in the next room, which would kick his a.s.s onto the street ... and which might try to crawl into his bed.

The older he got, the more crucial the skill had become. By the time he was eight, he could no longer count on meals from Seanna. She'd deemed him old enough to fend for himself so she could save some precious drug money. When you need to steal everything from food to clothing to school supplies, the threats multiply a hundredfold. It's not just the police or the people you're stealing from. It's older kids, who'll notice the bills in your pocket and try to swipe them. It's teachers, who'll notice if you're exhausted and dirty and call children's services. It's your own mother, who'll notice you have new shoes and demand some of whatever you stole, and lock you out on the street if you don't pay your share of the nonexistent rent for a hole she gets free for banging the landlord.

When Seanna left, the dangers had multiplied again. That's when the games began. Life itself became a game, a con, a swindle. Not just against marks, but against everyone-from teachers to landlords to any person with the power to lock him up, either in jail or in a group home. He'd lived like a shark then, always moving, stop and perish.

So, out here at night, on this empty street, he kept prowling, a.s.sessing, trying to pinpoint the source of danger. But there was none. Just a deep sense of unease.

As he walked, he counted gargoyles. Most times, he didn't even look up to see them, just knew where they hid and mentally ticked them off. It helped settle his anxiety, as it had when he was young. A child's game, perhaps the only one he'd ever known. When he'd come here, to Cainsville with Rose, he was able to be just another boy. It wasn't like school, where kids knew where he lived, how he lived, who his mother was, and even if they didn't, they seemed to sense it on him, their own instincts for threat kicking in as they steered clear. In Cainsville, Gabriel could play in the same park as other children and count the same gargoyles.

He got to six before he sensed he wasn't alone and noticed Veronica half a block away. Insomnia, he presumed. Instinctively, he turned to head back, staying out of her path so he wouldn't startle her.

"Gabriel?" she called.

He could pretend not to hear. He wasn't in the mood for conversation. He rarely was, though he'd make the effort in Cainsville.

"Is something wrong?" she asked as she approached.

He felt the urge to say, "I don't know. Is there?" but stifled it. He was just feeling out of sorts. No need to inflict it on her.

"I'm staying with Olivia," he said. "We worked late."

Veronica smiled, a beaming smile that crinkled her eyes. She reached out and squeezed his arm. "I'm glad to see it, Gabriel. So glad."

He knew what she presumed, no matter how quick he'd been to add the "working late" part. All the elders presumed it. He'd seen that in their faces at the diner. An unattached young man and woman, spending so much time together. They made the natural presumption. Which did not apply to Gabriel. He was already putting himself out enough with this relationship. Taking enough of a chance.

He murmured a demurral. It didn't matter. Veronica had made up her mind, and his denials were merely sweet and charming. Old-fashioned chivalry.

He tried to leave after that, but it was clear Veronica wanted to chat. He couldn't be rude to her. However, if she insisted on instigating a conversation, there was no reason he couldn't choose the topic.

"You've lived here all your life, correct?" Gabriel said.

It was a formality. All the elders had. They were as much a fixture of Cainsville as the gargoyles.

When Veronica nodded, he said, "Do you remember Glenys Carew?"

Her lips pursed, as if deep in thought. It was too deep a purse, too great an effort to pretend she needed to consider the question. When she said, "No, I don't believe I do," it was the answer he expected. Also, a lie. The fact of the lie didn't bother him. Everyone lied. The important question was why, and that was always more difficult to answer.

"How about Daere Bowen?" he said.